


By Our Own Hand

by silverlined



Category: Samurai Warriors
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-15
Updated: 2010-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverlined/pseuds/silverlined
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SPOILERS FOR KIYOMASA'S MUSOU MODE ENDING. Sakon would never have allowed Mitsunari to fall while he still lived, but sometimes politics is more than merely life and death. After the fighting is over, what comes next? A story of idiots and the paths they walk together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Our Own Hand

It's long after the final beats of the war drums have faded away to smoke and the lingering cries of the carrion crows that Kiyomasa manages to find Sakon on the battlefield. He's a familiar silhouette, tall and broad-shouldered, the heft of his sword resting on his shoulders and Kiyomasa finds himself looking around for Mitsunari's slim figure, always just a few steps ahead. Sakon seems smaller without him, incomplete.

"We never found the body," Kiyomasa says abruptly, speaking to Sakon's left shoulder. He'd looked, afterward, when the remnants of the Western army had fled Sekigahara.

"No," Sakon tells him, a little trace of wry amusement in his voice. "Not your side."

Kiyomasa flinches but squares his shoulders, resolute. "I've come to thank you formally for your aid."

Sakon shrugs at him. "I'd like to take more credit for it, but you know it wasn't my idea."

There's nothing that Kiyomasa can say to that, not to anyone on this battlefield. The words he has are too late in coming and Kiyomasa turns his attention resolutely to the future instead, trying to see through the ghosts of the past that smile scornfully at him. _For our future, we can do anything._

"What will you do now?" Kiyomasa asks Sakon and the empty space by his side.

"Ahhh," Sakon groans, losing a little of his levity. "It's not going to be fun going back to ronin after regular employment's spoiled me."

At that, Kiyomasa's eyebrow raised because from what he'd seen, regular employment for Sakon had been spoiling Mitsunari insufferable. "You'll always have a home at Osaka Castle."

Osaka Castle looms behind them, bold and grand if a little battered around the edges from canon fire and muskets. The shingles had rained down as if the castle itself were joining in on the fight, the familiar paths and gardens turned into battlefields. Here, where he'd first met Mitsunari, clambering inelegantly from a horse and stubbornly refusing help; there, where Hanbei had laughed and given him the wrong answers for his classes. Masanori forever at his heels, the rare sound of Mitsunari's laughter, the way Lady Nene always had a smile and a kind comment.

And now, there was where he'd slain a half dozen enemy officers, the playful screams of childhood given way to the sound of the dying.

"Oh? My rooms are still free?"

Kiyomasa takes a moment to think and winces a little more. "Mitsunari's are. You're welcome to take them for your own. We haven't touched them."

"Mitsunari's quarters, hey?" A little amusement sparks in Sakon's eyes and Kiyomasa remembers the way that wing had been filled with sound, despite Mitsunari's protests; the amount of time Sakon had spent camping at his door with a biwa and a tray of food, how it had taken all their best efforts to get Mitsunari to come out and get some fresh air.

Mitsunari had been seemingly allergic to weather, going red in the sun with a fine spray of freckles across his nose and miserable in winter, huddled into his horsehair headdress and layered kimono. They'd slept curled together in the winter campaigns, the small tent warm and hushed by the blanketing snow. Mitsunari would express his displeasure if waking first smothered in Kiyomasa's arms, with a vicious pinch that Kiyomasa was fairly sure still left marks to this day. It was fair - it only matched the marks Kiyomasa had left all over his pale skin.

"You sure you don't want them for your own?" Sakon prods unabashedly.

Kiyomasa shakes his head. "I have my own on the other side of the castle. You're welcome to them as long as you like."

It had had to be the other side, after Lady Nene grew tired of separating their squabbling and learned, finally, that locking them both in a small room would only lead to Mitsunari sulking and Kiyomasa breaking things and Masanori's braying laughter, merciless towards them both.

Kiyomasa brushes off his hands, drawing himself up straight and professional. "The restoration efforts will soon begin. Osaka Castle will be as it once was. Your help would be much appreciated."

"Nothing can keep the Toyotomi down?"

"It's his legacy," Kiyomasa says simply. "The family and our future is all we ever wanted to protect. We'll follow this path to the end."

 

 

"Sakon."

"You know, I never thought I'd be the one telling you to stay inside and not move."

"Sakon," Mitsunari repeats with more determination, though his voice is weak.

"The doctor told you not to get excited, even though I'm here," Sakon tells him and gently pushes Mitsunari's shoulders flat to the futon.

"He's a horse doctor," Mitsunari says flatly.

"Well, you shouldn't wear that headdress if you don't want people to make mistakes."

The indignant silence makes Sakon chuckle as he smooths out the wrinkles in the futon cover, effectively tucking Mitsunari in until he can barely move. "He's a good doctor, most of his patients live."

Frosty silence greets his proclamation, though the glare would be much more effective if Mitsunari could focus properly. But the head injury and bloodloss will pass, gods willing, and Mitsunari will recover back to his usual level of vitriol. Before that happens, Sakon ruffles his hair and smiles smugly.

" _Sakon_!" Mitsunari complains and wrinkles his nose but a corner of his mouth tilts up, just the slightest twitch, at Sakon's laughter. It soon fades, and Mitsunari catches Sakon's eye, blurry as his vision is. "You need to go help them."

"My lord?" Sakon asks, with the impression that no matter what Mitsunari says, he'll be sitting right here, thank you very much.

"The Toyotomi." _My family._ "The Tachibana, Sanada Yukimura, the Uesugi, Masanori... Kiyomasa." Mitsunari pauses for one long, broken moment then the words come tumbling out, almost falling over each other in his haste. "The Tokugawa will not rest easy until the Toyotomi are completely eradicated."

"I have word of negotiations," Sakon tells him gently, one hand lingering on Mitsunari's shoulder. "They'll be alright."

"It will fail," Mitsunari says bluntly because this is not the time for false hope. "The Tokugawa know that their position is precarious as long as any remnant of the previous ruling faction remains. History would tell him such. When that happens..." Mitsunari draws a laboured breath. "Kiyomasa and Masanori will defect back to the Toyotomi. You must help them."

"You're too weak to be moved," Sakon tells him resolutely. The time Mitsunari has been awake since being recovered from the battlefield can be counted in minutes before hours, though the battle is almost three days past.

"Sakon..." Mitsunari looks up at him. "I'm counting on you."

And like that, Sakon's iron will crumples and he starts to draw up plans to move his scattered troops to Kansai, for ammunition and supplies.

"It's about time the world learned of your survival anyway," Sakon grumbles, tossing the papers around him in a mess. He places a short stack on Mitsunari's chest, ignoring the glower that threatens to ignite them.

"No," Mitsunari says abruptly, still staring a little cross-eyed at the papers on his chest. "They can't know."

"My lord?" Sakon enquires after a short pause. The shuffling of the papers - entirely for show - stops.

"If I am still alive, the Toyotomi will remain divided," Mitsunari explains, the set of his jaw familiar in its stubbornness. "If it is just Kiyomasa, then I trust him to lead well."

"My lord," Sakon repeats but his voice makes it sound a lot more like ‘you idiot' than anything respectful. "Are you sure that-"

"It would just cause problems." Mitsunari's voice drops to barely above a whisper and he looks away, pretending to read the words on the papers he can't even focus on. "The house has been through enough."

"Idiots get lonely easily." Sakon can't say anymore, though, and sets about picking up his papers and shuffling them into an entirely different order. "And your friends?"

"Kanetsugu," Mitsunari says decisively. "Yukimura. Keiji. The others might tell Kiyomasa." Sakon levels him with a look that Mitsunari decides to ignore. "You'll do this for me, won't you?"

"If that's what you really wish," Sakon says, doubtful. He stares at Mitsunari a little longer but Mitsunari gives no quarter, face blank and tired.

"It's how it has to be."

Keiji boggles at Sakon as he finishes up his story, a jug of sake dangling loosely from the fingers of one hand. "He's an idiot."

"A big idiot," Sakon agrees cheerfully, and takes a swig from his own jug.

Kanetsugu blinks, looking torn between overwhelming joy at his friend's survival and exasperation. "However, it would be dishonourable to go against his wishes, as much as it pains me to see the love between brothers torn asunder."

"Brotherly love," Keiji toasts with a booming laugh. Kanetsugu rolls his eyes.

"It is dishonourable to fool lord Kiyomasa this way," Yukimura protests, only a little slurred. His face is flushed brilliant red and he lists to the right, almost on Keiji's shoulder.

"It's idiotic," Sakon corrects him blithely. "But my lord Mitsunari has always been stubborn."

"He does what he believes is best for the people," Kanetsugu declares. "But he should believe more in the power of love to overcome all obstacles."

Keiji tosses his empty jug off to the corner to join the rest of its compatriots and immediately gets started on the next. "The brats need to learn to kiss and make up without dragging half the country-"

"All the country," Sakon interjects, with a broad wave towards the window encompassing the still-scarred lands from Kansai to Kanto. Sekigahara looms unseen somewhere deep into the night.

"All the country," Keiji corrects without missing a beat, "into their squabbling."

"Because of course, we would never dream of interfering otherwise," Kanetsugu notes wryly. "Such meddlesome actions would be unbecoming of great warriors such as ourselves."

Yukimura blinks owlishly at them. "Kunoichi could lock them into a room together."

"I could bash their heads together a bit," Keiji counter offers and grins wildly at Kanetsugu's quelling look. "Knock some sense into ‘em."

Sakon politely raises his hand. "No injuring my lord, please."

"Truth hurts," Keiji snorts. "Besides, his head is thick enough, he'd recover in no time."

"Though it seems we all have much maturing to do," Kanetsugu notes to no one in particular. Keiji laughs silently at him and raises his sake jug in a toast.

"To idiots and how they never die!"

 

 

The battle was fought and won for Osaka Castle but it is long days before Kiyomasa returns home, long meetings and negotiations and the struggle of power factions rushing once more to fill a void. It seems, once again, that peace will be fragile and short lived.

Lord Hideyoshi managed to pull the land together by sheer force of will, Kiyomasa doubts he'll be able to do the same when the family is so incomplete.

But there are more pressing concerns; Osaka Castle in dire need of repairs which means wood, men, supplies from all over Japan. Kiyomasa does not have Mitsunari's head for numbers and details, doesn't wield the abacus like a blunt weapon to inspire fear. If Mitsunari were here, Kiyomasa is sure the numbers would obediently tabulate and make sense, too scared to think of disobeying. But Mitsunari is not and thus, it's Kiyomasa sprawled across the low table, stacks of paper disarrayed next to his head, a cold pot of tea abandoned.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"Sakon," Kiyomasa greets politely, though it's muffled into his arms. He twitches disconsolately for a moment before summoning the energy to look up.

"Supplies, huh?" Sakon, if anything, looks amused by his suffering. He has one of the numerous sheets of paper in his hand, looking at it as if it weren't the bane of his existence. Out of his battle regalia and without his sword, he seems much more approachable - Kiyomasa's own scimitar abandoned to the armory, traded for foes to be battled with ink and brush. "How nostalgic."

A little glimmer of hope lightens Kiyomasa's depths of despair. "Sakon, you were Mitsunari's-" What, exactly? It doesn't bear thinking, not now. "Retainer. You must be familiar with supply orders."

Sakon laughs and holds up his hands. "Lord Mitsunari did everything but I am well versed in strategy. Perhaps I can help you a little."

Contrary to his words, Sakon ends up helping quite a lot - he pulls a list of the major suppliers in the area, who are on good terms with the Toyotomi, out of seemingly nowhere and his dry recitation feels so familiar that Kiyomasa's heart clenches a little. One day, when there is time, he will wear white for mourning and ask Sakon for Mitsunari's ashes to be placed in the family shrine, where Lady Nene can watch over him in the afterlife as she did while they lived.

"You know quite a bit about the area," Kiyomasa notes, scribbling down a few notes on what were probably important documents.

"Not as much as some," Sakon laughs. "Though I do what I can." They sit in companionable silence for a while, the distant noise of yelling filtering in from the open window. Masanori's voice is easy to pick out, familiar, but the girlish shrieks in reply are new - it should have been Mitsunari's quiet sarcasm and Sakon's indulgent laughter, Lady Nene's scolding and Lord Hideyoshi's badly disguised amusement.

"Actually," Sakon continues casually. "I've come to ask you for leave."

"Ask _me_?" Kiyomasa repeats, eyebrow arching.

"You are the man in charge now, aren't you?" Sakon grins at him. "My lord."

It's wrong, to hear Sakon addressing anyone else that way. Kiyomasa hides a wince. "You want to leave?"

"Only for a few days," Sakon says lightly but his eyes are sharp and assessing. "To deal with a few things back home. You don't mind, do you?"

There's a lot of things that Kiyomasa would like to say, but Sakon is his own person and not just a memory of Mitsunari bought to life, so he forces a smile. "It would be an honour if you could one day think of Osaka Castle as your home also."

Sakon only grins. "I'll be back within the week, anyway. Should be more help then."

"Ah," Kiyomasa recalls suddenly. "I have to thank you for the aid of the Uesugi." They'd arrived earlier that week, bearing timber and more importantly, troops and craftsmen to help with the labor. Kanetsugu Naoe had been at their lead and it had been distinctly uncomfortable to face one of Mitsunari's closest friends when the last they'd met had been across the battlefield. And then another, after both changing sides.

"Not me, boss," Sakon says comfortably. "You keep on giving me credit for all the wrong things, when you know who would have arranged it." He ignores Kiyomasa's flinch and levers himself off the tatami floor with a regretful look at the paperwork. "Suppose I should get a move on if I want to leave at dawn."

"Travel safe," is all Kiyomasa can say before Sakon leaves, footsteps surprisingly light, and he's left to only his memories and paperwork once more.

 

 

"I think you'd look good in pink."

"Sakon."

"It's your colour. Brings out your eyes."

"Sakon."

"What, don't you like it?"

"I'm not wearing that."

Sakon grins and flutters the skimpy pink and white triangles of Kunoichi's trademark outfit enticingly. "You can't go as you are, my lord. Too recognisable."

"Do I even want to know how you got that?" Mitsunari asks, the look on his face torn between appalled and alarmed.

"Probably not," Sakon admits cheerfully. "Petty larceny is-"

"Stop." Appalled wins out and Mitsunari winces. "I'm injured, Sakon."

"I also brought you Kai's bodice, if you'd prefer that instead."

"Sakon!" Mitsunari splutters, hand unconsciously groping for his ever present fan to throw at Sakon's head. But there's nothing by his side, not even frail slats of bamboo and paper.

"Well, you are insisting on absolute anonymity," Sakon says mildly, not even attempting to hide the glint of laughter in his eyes. "I aim to oblige."

"Try harder," Mitsunari snipes but can't help the reluctant smile nor the little snort of laughter that escapes as Sakon holds Kunoichi's top up to his own chest, considering.

"There now," Sakon says, pleased. He tosses Kunoichi's outfit aside carelessly and rests his hands on his thighs, every inch the proper retainer attending to his lord. "I knew you remembered how to laugh. We're going home, my lord, it's time to smile."

"Sakon..." Mitsunari's smile still lingers around his eyes, despite the worry that shows. "What's going to happen?" _To me_ , he doesn't say, except with the fretful clutch of his fingers in his sleeves. _To us._

"Fighting's over, my lord," Sakon tells him gently. "Isn't it time you remembered how to be happy?"

Mitsunari doesn't answer him and looks away, letting his hair fall to cover his eyes. _For now_ remains unsaid, the spectre of Ieyasu looming large. One battle is not the war and their peace is precarious, held only in check by uncertain ambitions and determination. Sakon's sad smile goes unnoticed.

"So," Sakon says briskly in a tone reminiscent of military strategic briefings. Automatically, Mitsunari sits up straighter and snaps to attention. "I have a noble woman's travelling raiment prepared for you. We'll be stopping every night at an inn, so you'll have to keep in character."

Mitsunari makes a wordless sound of annoyance, but doesn't outright protest despite being entirely sure Sakon is only doing this to spite him. Sakon grins.

"We'll be sharing a horse, so we can't go too fast anyway."

A long moment of disbelieving silence stretches out, then, " _Sakon_."

"Yes, my lord?" Sakon says pleasantly.

"Why can't I have my own horse?" Mitsunari asks, frost dripping from his voice. His hand moves automatically to clutch at his fan; he crosses his arms tightly across his chest instead.

"I wouldn't want you to strain yourself," Sakon replies solicitously, voice rich with amusement. "You're injured, after all."

Abruptly, Mitsunari deflates. "Sakon!"

"My lord," Sakon replies cheerfully. "Have I ever told you how much I like how you say my name?"

Defeated, Mitsunari only glowers at him and tries to stifle the slight smile that refuses to be quelled.

 

 

"I heard she's a real beauty," Masanori swoons, clutching his hands to his chest. "One of the stable boys saw her face for just a second, but he thinks she was the most beautiful person he's ever seen."

"Was he drunk?" Kiyomasa asks dryly, leaning over to flick Masanori on the forehead.

"Don't you want to see Sakon's lover?" Masanori howls, clutching at his forehead and staggering back from Kiyomasa's desk, carelessly taking a few stacks of paper with him. "If she managed to turn his attention away from that idiot, she must be something."

Kiyomasa frowns. "It's none of our business," he says firmly, even though something twinges in his chest at the thought of someone who could be an adequate replacement for the lost. "She's shy. We should respect her privacy."

Shy had been Sakon's words, laughingly delivered, when Kiyomasa had asked him about his guest brought into the castle under the cover of night. The castle maids had been aflutter about the beautiful lady, riding pillion behind Sakon with her face pressed against his back, the gentle way he'd helped her from the horse.

"That person?" Sakon had said, happier than Kiyomasa remembered seeing him in recent times. "I suppose you'd say the cute type. Shy, easily angered and prone to sulking but I can't help spoiling someone like that. I couldn't break a promise."

Kiyomasa hadn't been able to stop himself from drawing comparisons, the description and Sakon's indulgent tones so familiar. "Sounds like you're-" What, now? Already moved on? "Completely captivated."

Sakon had only laughed at him again, amusement showing in his eyes. "My loyalty is absolute."

"We could sneak onto the roof again," Masanori offers with a cackle. "Like we used to spy on Mitsunari, up onto the roof and around his window. She'd never know."

"I have no words for how much we really can't." Kiyomasa whacks Masanori upside on the head. "Mitsunari wasn't actually a real girl."

"But you thought he was, way back then." Masanori gleefully leans on Kiyomasa's shoulder, using his greater height and reach to effectively trap Kiyomasa in place. "Because he was so cute when he arrived. You used to blush every time he talked to you."

A sharp elbow in Masanori's side moves him exactly half a centimetre. "Shut up, idiot."

"You're blushing now!" Masanori carols, poking Kiyomasa in the face. "But he really was a cute kid, wasn't he? Too bad about his personality."

"It was all Hanbei's fault anyway," Kiyomasa grumbles, feeling his face heat even more. He bats irritably at Masanori's hand, lashing out with his elbow once more.

Most of Kiyomasa's childhood trauma seems like it can be traced directly to Hanbei, despite Hanbei's innocuous appearance and laconic goodwill. He'd come in, lazily content, announcing that they'd have another friend soon, that Lord Hideyoshi and Lady Nene were to adopt another child.

"Lady Nene's always wanted a girl," Hanbei had drawled, ruffling their hair to their squawking protests. "You'll have to remember to treat the new arrival kindly."

He'd left soon afterwards, leaving Masanori and Kiyomasa gaping excitedly at each other. They'd been eleven and ten, climbing trees and learning to swing wooden swords, covered in scrapes and Lady Nene's carefully applied bandages.

"A girl," Masanori had repeated, eyes wide. "I wonder if she'll be cute."

"Idiot," Kiyomasa had scolded. "I'm going to be the best big brother ever."

"You mean I will," Masanori's chest had puffed out, the year between them giving him an extra hand-span of height, though both were thin, all knobbly knees and elbows.

"Iiiidiot!"

And from there, it had degenerated into their usual rough and tumbling brawling, until they'd collapsed in helpless fits of laughter, still weakly kicking.

The day their new sister was expected to arrive, they'd scrubbed up especially under Hanbei's careful eye, twitching their yukata into place and smoothing down unruly hair.

"I'm not a babysitter, you know," Hanbei had grumbled as he brushed them down once more.

"But you're our big brother, right?" Masanori had replied, tackling Hanbei's knees from where he'd been seated in a vain attempt to avoid crumpling his clothing.

"Well." Hanbei had pushed him off gently and slanted a look at Kanbei, lurking silently in the corner since they'd all been asked to attend Lord Hideyoshi's arrival home. "It's impossible to go through life without making some sort of connection, isn't it?"

Hanbei had laughed at Kanbei's glower and the rest of them, confused, had just continued to chatter until the retinue of horses had drawn up.

It really had been too bad that Mitsunari's pale skin had him wearing a veil provided by Lady Nene so he wouldn't burn from the sun on the long ride. And how his mannerisms, city born and bred, were so refined and his voice so soft, and it was entirely not Kiyomasa's fault that he and Masanori had been convinced that Mitsunari was a girl months after everyone had told them different.

Mitsunari had probably been his first love.

"You even used to bring him flowers," Masanori sing-songs mercilessly. "Then he'd throw them at your head."

Kiyomasa puts his hands down on the desk with a decisive slap, shrugging Masanori off his shoulders. "Masanori?"

"Kiyomasa?" He sounds a little anxious, shuffling away.

Kiyomasa smiles, all sharp teeth. "Start running."

Masanori only laughs nervously at first but takes one look at Kiyomasa's eyes and in a flash, he's out of the door, heavy footsteps fading deeper into the castle.

 

 

"Flowers?" Kanetsugu asks, motioning towards the crude vase on the low table, the fresh cut flowers from the surrounding grounds. It's handmade, the whorl of a childish fingerprint pressed onto the painted clay and the colours are faded enough to be years old.

Mitsunari only smiles. There's a pot of tea between them, two cups and the steam rises in slow, lazy curls, hazy in sunlight. It's the first time that the two of them have been alone since Mitsunari's revival, from the shakily penned letters that loyal men had tried to deliver too late to the Uesugi stronghold.

Since Kanetsugu had joined the Tokugawa forces and laid siege to Osaka castle.

Kanetsugu stares down at his hands. "I never liked the transient beauty of flowers." Like cherry blossoms, that bloom for so short a time to fall and trampled underfoot. Unnoticed. "But there is something admirable about the steadfast loyalties that humanity can aspire to."

Mitsunari is looking at him, Kanetsugu can feel it. The war has changed them all and Mitsunari speaks a little slower, a little softer. But they've always conversed with the utmost sincerity, long into the night making plans for the future, now never to come. Kanetsugu mourns the loss of his dreams as much as the simple shine of Mitsunari's ideals, traded for subdued uncertainty.

"Love, honour, justice. These are not concepts found solely under one name nor circumstance, but where ever human will may flourish."

"Kanetsugu." Mitsunari has grown up, even Kanetsugu can see this but his shoulders are still too slender and the thinness of his face alarming.

 _I'm sorry,_ Kanetsugu can't bring himself to say and tries to unfist his hands, clenched tight beneath the table.

"You did what you had to do, to keep your family alive. I think I, of all people, could never blame you for that." There's a brief ghost of a laugh in Mitsunari's words, but it fades and leaves only the ghosts of past hurts in its wake.

"We used to talk of love." The room is still the same, decorated to Mitsunari's tastes and hanging prominent on the wall, the over-sized decorative fan. 大一大万大吉. _One for all and all for one and Heaven bless the land._ It's wood and paper, not steel and sharp-edged, but it strikes like a weapon to Kanetsugu's heart.

"The only thing you need to take responsibility for is making me believe your words." Mitsunari stretches a hand across the table, thin and pale. "I still believe in them."

Kanetsugu takes Mitsunari's hand in his, ignoring the slight tremor that could belong either of them or both. "We'll rebuild the land in the name of honour."

Mitsunari laughs, short and breathy and all too brief. "You've already begun."

The relief feels like a physical weight lifted off Kanetsugu's chest and he squeezes Mitsunari's hand a little tighter. Outside the damaged castle walls, the world goes on: the villagers and their reconstruction, the soldiers finding new occupation in helping to rebuild. Inside, the struggling remnants of the Toyotomi forge on.

But Kanetsugu has never been one to shy away from contentious issues and he respects Mitsunari too much not to delve straight to the point.

"You would forgive me but not Kiyomasa?"

Mitsunari flinches and looks away, tugging at his hand. His shoulders draw in and he looks too small without his furred headdress and golden horns, unprotected. Kanetsugu refuses to let him go.

"Though I understand it is love that motivates your actions, for your family and your house, it would be an injustice to ignore the love you have for your..." Kanetsugu pauses, lingering delicately. "...brother."

The set of Mitsunari's jaw is familiar in its stubbornness. "There's nothing to forgive."

"He still doesn't know."

Mitsunari shakes his head and refuses to meet Kanetsugu's eyes.

"It would be unjust to allow him to suffer." Kanetsugu is relentless but there's a desperate pain on Mitsunari's face when he finally looks up that makes Kanetsugu release his hand. His voice is so soft that Kanetsugu has to lean in to hear him.

"I never expected him to choose me."

And there's nothing for Kanetsugu to do but try to fit the pieces of Mitsunari's broken heart together again.

 

 

The castle maids gossip and it's not long before Kiyomasa hears rumours of Mitsunari's ghost haunting the castle. There might be something to it - sometimes, he catches the glimpse of fox-red hair in the sunlight, peering out of the upper windows over the courtyard while he trains. Perhaps Mitsunari doesn't haunt the castles at all, but Kiyomasa himself.

He still remembers the feel of Mitsunari's shoulders beneath his hands, too thin and frail for someone with such passion. It had taken hardly any effort to push him away.

When they were younger, when all three of them had shared a room and a futon and slept in a tangle of limbs, Mitsunari had somehow been the tallest. Kiyomasa had gone to him for his nightmares and scraped knees, cried all over Mitsunari's yukata and collected rain soft kisses to make the pain stop.

Somewhere along the line, he'd grown taller and both of them more stubborn.

By the end, they'd only known how to hurt each other.

There's no reason for him to be outside Mitsunari's room. Not when his own rooms are across the castle and with Sakon's lover refusing to come out or meet him. He's heard that she's met Mitsunari's friends, though, Kanetsugu and Yukimura and Keiji. And Muneshige, visiting only briefly as if blown through by the wind, is in there now.

He'd shown up alone the other day, bulging saddlebags and clothes dusty from the long ride.

"Alone?" Kiyomasa had asked, looking around for Ginchiyo.

"I felt like going for a ride," Muneshige had smiled. "She's going to ban me from the castle when I get back."

Kiyomasa had given him as dubious a look as the Tachibana pair warranted. "You don't sound too worried."

Muneshige had merely flicked his hair back, letting it fall perfectly arranged. "What should I bring her for a souvenir?"

"Bribery?"

The over-stuffed bags had been evidence of Muneshige's forward planning and he'd laughed, gesturing towards them. "I have hair ornaments and silks and a foreign made dagger for when she calms down enough not to throw it at me."

"You have an interesting relationship."

"Well," Muneshige had said, innocuous smile firmly in place. "You'd know all about that."

Kiyomasa had refused to understand and soon after, Sakon had whisked Muneshige away with a roguish wink and a grin.

It's hard not to feel resentful at Sakon for still being able to laugh so easily when such a large part of his life had been taken away.

It's hard not to feel resentful of Sakon for other reasons, but Kiyomasa thinks he's mostly made peace with his heart and it's too late to think of what could have been, _should_ have been, without going mad.

Sakon had always been good for Mitsunari, tempering his sharp tongue and thoughtless words. But some part of Mitsunari had always been just Kiyomasa's, even if the rest was shared.

He can hear the faint sound of laughter through the walls and imagines, for a brief moment, that he can hear Mitsunari with them. Then, cursing himself a fool, turns away. He has too much to do to worry about ghosts of the past, if he wants to go forward into the future. It's his responsibility, now.

The screen door slides open behind him, a burst of louder chatter before it's muffled again as the door shuts. A moment later, a fist gently strikes him on the head.

"Idiot. I keep telling both of you this, but it doesn't seem to sink in," Muneshige says wryly, smacking Kiyomasa on the head again for emphasis. "No matter how it appears, you're not alone."

Kiyomasa makes a face at the wall. "Where will you go now?"

There's a moment of dubious silence as Muneshige wonders almost audibly whether or not brute force might be enough to drive his point home, but he lets it go for now. "Home," he says instead, a little wistful. "It's been a while, though I do have one more stop."

Kiyomasa herds them along the long corridors, eager to get away from Mitsunari's memory. "Oh?"

"I don't think she'll set the archers on me," Muneshige says, cheering up. "I'll bring her a book. There's a historian friend of ours I need to drop in on."

"I never thought you were interested in history."

"Sometimes," Muneshige says obliquely, giving Kiyomasa a look from beneath his eyelashes that would make Kai faint. "It's not enough to read history, but necessary to make it, too. Don't think the story's over before it ends."

Kiyomasa stops and stares at him for a few long seconds. "Ginchiyo's right. You don't make sense."

"She's right about a lot of things," Muneshige agrees placidly. "It gives her her charm."

"I thought that was because she doesn't like you," Kiyomasa says, a little exasperated, a little more amused. "Have Kai and Kunoichi snuck into your room yet?"

Muneshige's eyes are wide and very, very innocent. "I like them feistier. I think you do, too."

Finally, Kiyomasa is startled into a laugh and he jostles Muneshige with his shoulder. "I don't know what you're saying."

"Sometimes it's worth it," Muneshige says, serene. "You'll see."

Kiyomasa isn't sure exactly what Muneshige would like him to see, but he nods and agrees since Muneshige will accept no other answer. Perhaps, he thinks. Sometime.

Muneshige leaves at dawn the following day, when the wind begins to stir the Toyotomi standards flying proud on the castle walls. Kiyomasa sees him off, and catches him glancing back up at Mitsunari's windows.

The phantom flash of fox-red hair makes him flinch.

"Safe journey," he tells Muneshige with something approaching composure.

Muneshige smiles at him in return, calm and reassuring. "Don't lose heart."

And with a nudge of his heels, Muneshige spins his horse around and goes.

 

 

"Did you enjoy the flowers?" Sakon asks, very mildly, poking the simple arrangement in the handmade vase on Mitsunari's low desk.

Mitsunari peers at him suspiciously. There's a smirk on Sakon's face and Mitsunari is deeply displeased, which he shows by the frown on his face and tilting his nose up aristocratically. It is... _nice_ to have flowers again, even if he feels no particular attachment to them - he'd always had flowers since arriving to the castle, until the long weeks before Kiyomasa had left.

The vase had stood empty, then.

Sakon only laughs. "The castle maids think it's romantic."

"Do they, now?" Mitsunari says, voice icily unamused. He slumps against Sakon, shoulder to shoulder and the warmth from the contact radiates through him.

"It's a good story, don't you think? The princess who won't come out of her tower."

"Princess?" Mitsunari repeats, dangerously. Were Sakon not so warm, he'd lever himself up to glare but the day turning to night brings the beginnings of frost in the air, the passing of the seasons too fast.

"Well," Sakon says cheerfully, idly resting a hand by Mitsunari's knee. "If you want to stop the gossip, you know what you need to do."

"Sakon."

"My lord?"

"I'm not going to change my mind, Sakon." Mitsunari looks away. "It's better this way."

"Better for who, my lord?" Sakon asks, gentle as the touch of his hand to Mitsunari's hair, feather light. "What happened to the master I promised to serve, the one determined to protect the future with his own hands?"

"He failed."

"My lord." Sakon is inexorably kind. "You know better than that."

Mitsunari's spine snaps straight, tense and unhappy, his shoulders drawn defensively up. "If you don't like how I do things, you can just leave."

Silence stretches out, as finely drawn as steel wire, taunt and trembling.

Then, Sakon curves a large, warm hand over Mitsunari's shoulder and pulls him back in. "I wouldn't leave after everything we've been through," he says reproachfully but Mitsunari refuses to lean against him, holding himself stiff and distant.

This way, he doesn't have to look Sakon in the eye. "Perhaps you should," he says bitterly. "I can't do anything but hurt the people around me."

"I'd never leave you," Sakon repeats and this time, Mitsunari lets himself be pulled in with an almost inaudible sigh.

"I... Sakon," he says, a little helplessly. "I. I know. I'm sorry."

"You can't hide forever, my lord. The future's still waiting for you."

Mitsunari shakes his head, stubborn to a fault. One hand fists Sakon's sleeve, grasp white knuckled.

"He's still waiting for you," Sakon continues, and covers Mitsunari's hand with his own.

"But I-"

"I learned to share," Sakon says, with a hint of a laugh in his richly indulgent tones. "And you'll always be mine, too."

"Sakon..."

"For the sake of your glorious future, my lord," Sakon tells him and the words ring like the clash of steel, the preparation to battle. The summer day long gone by when they'd first met, how Sakon had called the three of them fools, not knowing how accurate his words would be.

Mitsunari closes his eyes and thinks back to his old conviction, the unfaltering belief that the three of them shared, the way that despite everything, their home still stood.

Then this was a victory, wasn't it?

He breathes out, long and slow and shuddering, and whispers, "We'll grasp it with our own hands."

 

 

"Kiyomasa," Sakon hails him, warm and friendly, as Kiyomasa's preparing to go down to the wards to help oversee the construction. Despite their best efforts, the money in the treasury will not last forever and it's taking far longer than anticipated.

Sakon's lists of calculations, drawn up every day, are beginning to get snippy with pointed comments about going over budget, though he's as pleasant in person as usual.

"Sakon?" Kiyomasa answers politely, stopping for him to catch up. "Anything I can do for you?"

"You could say that," Sakon laughs. "There's someone looking for you in the East wing."

"Oh-?" Kiyomasa starts to say, but Sakon neatly plucks the scroll from Kiyomasa's hand and gives him a friendly nudge back towards the castle.

"I'll go down and do this for you. Go on."

"But-"

"Don't worry," Sakon calls over his shoulder, already jogging away. "I'll be close by."

Kiyomasa blinks a little at his retreating back, then down at his empty hands, but given he's been relieved of duty, there's nothing for him to do but go back to the castle. He hasn't been in the East wing for days, refusing to haunt the halls outside Mitsunari's room like the spectres he expects to find.

This time of day, the halls are silent, everyone gone out to their duties. The doors are all shut and Kiyomasa almost slaps himself when he realises that he has absolutely no idea where in the East wing he's needed. It's probably Sakon's idea of a joke and, grimly determined, Kiyomasa forges on.

It had been years after Mitsunari had moved in that the three of them were given separate rooms, Mitsunari to the East, Masanori and Kiyomasa himself in the West. It had been strange sleeping on his own at first but Mitsunari's rooms had never been barred to him. Not until they'd outgrown each other, the soft contours of childhood turning to jagged edges, and Kiyomasa had stayed in his own rooms.

Sometimes, Mitsunari had come to him but always on his own terms. Always to later storm across the castle, ruffled robes and hastily drawn on dignity, too proud to stay and compromise.

It's habit that takes him to Mitsunari's door.

Up on the highest level, it's just as quiet as the lower floors, but the doors are open, spilling sunlight that pools warmly at his feet. A gentle breeze plucks delicately at the hem of his yukuta and even though he knows this is wrong, that open doors are not always invitations, he toes off his shoes and walks in for the first time in years.

It still looks the same, the hangings on the wall and the fresh flowers in the vase he'd made so long ago. And there, sitting by the open doors that lead to the balcony, sits Mitsunari halo'd in the golden light.

Kiyomasa slumps back against the wall, arm over his eyes. His laugh is a little broken, and rasps painfully in his chest. "I didn't think I missed you that much."

"Idiot."

It even sounds like Mitsunari, the memories evoking his voice clear as if he were actually in the room. There, the little catch in his voice that was as good as an unspoken apology, that both of them were too stubborn to actually make.

Kiyomasa won't open his eyes. "I never meant for things to end up this way."

"I never could leave you alone," Mitsunari says, like the memory of the Kyuushuu campaign and the triumphant way he'd ridden up with reinforcements. They'd always had each other's back. Then, "You're going over budget with the repairs."

Which is new.

Kiyomasa blinks against his forearm.

"Your financial sense is terrible," Mitsunari tells him, a little shaky and not quite sharp enough. Something loosens in Kiyomasa's chest. Slowly, he lowers his arm and looks - really _looks_ \- at Mitsunari, beyond the glow of sunlight around him.

"You're a fool," Mitsunari huffs, but he's pale and a little short of breath, the tight curl of his fingers clutching at his robes not hiding his trembling. The shadows beneath his eyes are too dark.

Kiyomasa feels his own breath catch and if he stares for any longer, Mitsunari's going to get angry but he can't help himself. Mitsunari is even thinner than before and a little nonsensically, he thinks that Lady Nene would have his head for this, if nothing else. "You died." _I killed you._

"Well." The little curl of a smirk on Mitsunari's face, as wan and faint as it is, is wonderfully familiar. "You should be used to being wrong by now."

The first step he takes is slow, hesitant, as if Mitsunari will disappear if he gets too close, always just a step out of his reach. Everything starts to come together and he almost runs the last few steps, pushing the low table out of the way with a crash.

The vase tumbles over, spilling its flowers carelessly across the floor.

Beneath his hands, Mitsunari's shoulders are still too thin and his body so small against his own. He smells like clean laundry and sunlight, not the familiar scents of smoke and old blood from the never ending fighting, but the small hands that grasp him are startlingly familiar. They shake a little, one on Kiyomasa's back and the other stroking his hair, still surprisingly strong.

Kiyomasa hides his face against Mitsunari's neck, listening to the soft murmur of his voice, and thinks that maybe, now, they're ready to take the Toyotomi into the future.

Together.

**Author's Note:**

> While idiotsfic is set predominantly in Kiyomasa’s ending, much of the background detail is taken from various other stories.
> 
> The Tachibana supported Mitsunari at Sekigahara, thus they both knew of his survival. After they lost the battle, all of the generals scattered and headed for safety. Ginchiyo’s ending occurs here, when her and Muneshige fight together on the way to Kyuushuu.
> 
> Shimazu shows up and with fresh reinforcements, all three make it safely back to Kyuushuu and form a blockade that prevents the Tokugawa from trying to invade. Thus, Tokugawa turns his sights to closer targets and begins the battle of Osaka Castle to wipe out the rest of the Toyotomi.
> 
> Muneshige is dispatched to help at Osaka, but Ginchiyo stays behind with Shimazu to protect their lands.
> 
> Also on the battlefield for the Toyotomi is Yukimura. He was informed of Mitsunari’s survival several days after word of Mitsunari’s death had spread, given he was on a different battlefield. Kanetsugu was the third point in the three-pronged attack Mitsunari planned against Ieyasu and as of thus, was also late to learn of Mitsunari’s survival. However, by that time, the Uesugi had already surrendered to the Tokugawa and none of Mitsunari’s messengers were able to make it to him until after he had laid down arms at the Battle of Osaka. After this, Kanetsugu defected back to the Western Army.
> 
> Muneshige returns to Kyuushuu after the battle of Osaka Castle, where his ending also occurs and he goes on a week long journey to check up on his allies at Osaka Castle and to pop in on the historian friend, Motonari Mori. The Mori clan supported Mitsunari at Sekigahara under the lead of Terumoto Mori, thus Motonari likely faked his own death again and lives in a small cottage with a dozen cats writing mediocre history books.
> 
> Some dialogue has been taken from half a dozen musou modes across both SW2 and SW3 and a little bit of SW2:Empires. If it sounds familiar, it probably really is. :’D There is absolutely nothing historically factual.
> 
> My thanks to bucket_shot for her ruthless pragmatism, deadly tsukkomi and lack of patience towards my whining. :’D Also, to animesque for the ‘does this make sense to people that can’t read my mind??’ checks and a fresh perspective.


End file.
